


Emesis

by Ryntaia



Category: Persona 5, persona - Fandom
Genre: Hospitals, M/M, Vomit, fluff n' angst, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 00:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10776051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryntaia/pseuds/Ryntaia
Summary: He had survived. And he regretted it.'Drabble' request on Tumblr, prompt in author's notes.





	Emesis

**Author's Note:**

> ANON WANTED MORE SHUAKE PAIN! 
> 
> Prompt: "Can you write more shuake in which Goro self-loathes due to what he did to Akira and the phantom thieves and also because he believes he doesn't deserve Akira's affection at all? But of course akira always proves him wrong."

 He had survived.

           It had taken all he had to drag himself out of that decadent wasteland of a ship with a bullet lodged in his shoulder, but Goro Akechi had survived. Granted he wasn’t sure what happened from there—being in reality with a bullet in your shoulder and no power from a Persona to keep you standing upwards had been an immediate blow once he found himself outside the Diet Building. All he could do was swear at himself as his knees buckled under him, gasps of distress and confusion coming from around him as his face went to meet with pavement.

           In the blur of pain and half-consciousness, he could’ve sworn he saw black hair and a Shujin uniform watching him as he fell. He could’ve sworn he saw thick glasses staring mercilessly at him as he lay in his own blood with a crowd of people clamoring around him and frantically dialing for the police. It almost made him smile as he faded out. The idea of Akira being there was somewhat soothing.

           But it was a bitter salve.

           He realized this quickly as he woke up in a hospital bed to find he had been a four month long coma. Doctors clamored wildly at the sheer fact that Akechi had woken up – he could catch enthused offhanded statements about how they hadn’t been able to single out the cause of the coma despite fixing his wound, that they hadn’t been sure if he would wake up, that they had done a great job despite having done nothing but pull the bullet out of his shoulder and lay him in a bed for days on end.

His hand ghosted across the stitches marring his pale flesh. It was a loud and noticeable wound and he could halfway hear the doctor telling him that it was guaranteed to scar. The man’s words were laden with unasked questions of how the teen had gotten a bullet wound in the first place, and the looming presence of the matter of paying for month upon month of hospital care for his coma. As if Akechi had even asked for these people to try and save him. As if he wanted to be here.

           As if he hadn’t just wanted them to leave him to bleed out in the road, or at least die before he got to the hospital. There was no poetic justice in this, he thought, nothing he had sacrificed to make up for the horrible things he had done. And now all he could do was live with those things for the rest of his life. He could just distantly watch the development of the past few months on a small TV provided to him.

           Apparently they had been eventful.

           Shido had collapsed, resigned, and went into hiding after performing a public apology—Akechi’s own name was mentioned once or twice but at this point he didn’t really care anymore. It had been publically known that it was the work of the Phantom Thieves, shown by reel after reel of footage of a country-wide television hijacking they had used for the calling card. He had to admire the method; the Thieves hadn’t shared it with him and in the back of his mind he was always wondering how they would get a calling card to someone who could so easily squash it. Apparently, probably with the help of the young hacker girl, they had managed it so that Shido could not possibly escape from his time of judgment.

           They had made the public remember. And Akechi sat here, forgotten. For once he appreciated it—everything he had ever believed, that innate nagging feeling that he wasn’t worth the affection of the adoring masses, had been confirmed. Their eyes had been opened and in a way his had too. But while their reaction was rightful indignation and fear to that which could destroy them, Akechi could only feel an empty acceptance towards his wheel spinning in the mud as he faded back into nothing in the minds of others. In the minds of the Phantom Thieves.

           In the mind of Kurusu.

           A sudden, sharp pain gripped Akechi’s heart, the first real feeling he had encountered since waking up from his coma. Akira Kurusu, the Joker, the leader, the teenager who had risen from his ashes like a phoenix to guide his group towards truth. Like the last flickering street light at midnight, with all the people he met like the moths innately drawn to that flickering light covered with soot but never dying out. Akechi had lost against that flickering light; everything he had believed had been burnt out by Akira’s resolve and genuine empathy.

           And once it had all burnt away from him, Akechi could only be left with the one truth he still held: his genuine affection towards the leader of the Phantom Thieves. That buried and suppressed understanding that everything Akira had displayed to him was real. The reality that the other teen had cared furiously about him, and after all the trust he had placed in Akechi’s words, the brunette had still turned around to shoot him in the back. And even then, after all of that, Akira still held his hand out earnestly to the disgraced detective, compelling him to come back to the Thieves.

           Akechi lurched forward at the thought, grabbing the emesis basis at his side as he dry heaved. Tears prickled at his eyes, running into the watery vomit, all bleeding together. Akira Kurusu and his affection. The boy had so much affection, so much caring, so much LOVE in his heart for someone who the world had functionally turned around and kicked out of their respects. There was a genuine feeling to every bit of affection that Akira gave to every single person, and it was hard to avoid the care that he had in his slate gray eyes as he listened to the concerns and opinions of each person around him. He was never gone away from them, spiting them in the back; he was always there for them, loving them. Loving him.

           Akechi coughed on the last bit of spit filled vomit, laying back in frustration. The affection he held for Akira Kurusu wasn’t something he could deny anymore, and in a way he couldn’t help but feel that it was so much better he realized it now instead of earlier. If he had realized it earlier, he contemplated, then he might have acted on it and won the favors and purest affections of someone who deserved so much better than to have to deal with him. It was better this way because Kurusu would never have to deal with the feelings of someone as corrupt as him. He could find affections in someone who was good enough for him.

            _Or someone who hasn’t functionally killed him_. Akechi laughed bitterly to himself. His thoughts were interrupted by knuckles rapping lightly on the door; his hair spun lightly when he looked up cautiously. Brown eyes widened as he recognized the woman at the door—blonde hair so light it almost seemed white, dark and sharp eyes, pursed red lips, and eyebrows forever furled into an expression of irritation or anger. The immaculately groomed, impeccably stubborn Sae Niijima.

           “Akechi.” She said, tone clipped.

           “….Ms. Niijima.” He replied, not able to bring himself to use his first name. He could see her eyebrow quirk at this but she didn’t point it out. She only closed her eyes in frustration. The prosecutor had come by several times since Akechi had awakened but her quick temper hadn’t faired well against his half hearted current nature. Half the time she left agitated, while the other half she left flat out irritated. He didn’t care. Sae Niijima was just another person who had gotten dragged into his selfishness and he didn’t want to see any of those people anymore. The more she went away the better.

           “…You stubborn child.” She muttered under her breath. He didn’t pay her any mind, just looking back down to the emesis pan. “I shouldn’t be doing any of this, but…you have been granted a special visitor. I granted you a special visitor, specifically.”

           Akechi looked up at this; the hospital had been very keen on keeping Akechi in isolation at the hospital after the news had apparently gotten out that he was Shido’s son. The combination of enraged members of the public alongside his old and devoted fans would’ve been enough to drive a man to suicide, or at least that was the hospital’s theory. So they closed visiting to everyone besides government officials and family. It basically meant only Sae Niijima had been willing and able to come visit. For someone to be allowed in, they would’ve had to come through her.

           And as the guest walked in, Akechi knew exactly why the prosecutor had done it.

           “I’ll leave you to talk.” Sae said, her tone almost hesitant and she strode past Kurusu into the hallway. The clack of her heels disappeared into the fray of the hospital. Akechi had zoned them out already anyways, his ears filled with a deafening silence as Akira closed the door behind him. Even the old news tapes playing on the old television were completely out of his perception—it wasn’t until Akira clicked the set off with the remote at Akechi’s side that the brunette realized it had even still been on.

           Silence reigned over the pair for a moment. Akira sat in a wooden chair across from the detective, legs splayed out and elbows balanced on his knees. His hands clasped together in front of his mouth as he studied every feature of Akechi’s shocked face—as if he was seeing something important, but was afraid he wouldn’t be able to ever see it again. The detective had no answers to break the stare they shared, only the returning feeling of hot bile in his throat.

           “Goro.”

           He blinked rapidly, his name bringing him back to attention. “A-Akira?”

           “Yes.”

           “What are you…”

           “I’ve been working against this hospital for a few weeks now to get in for a visiting session.” Akira replied easily, as if he read the other’s mind. Because of course he had. Akechi flushed a slight pink and directed his eyes away from the teen and his stupid messy hair, stupid askew glasses, stupidly knowledgable and calculating and kind gray eyes. “Goro, don’t do this.”

           “Don’t do what?” Akechi replied through grit teeth. What was this boy here to do? To rub it in? He hadn’t taken Akira as that sort of person. The back of his mind reminded him, almost childishly, that he had been offered to join the Phantom Thieves again when he had betrayed them—but it had all been fanciful talk. They hadn’t ever meant any of it.

            _You’re so much of a liar that you can’t even admit the truth to yourself._ His mind taunted him. _You know that Joker meant exactly what he said and does exactly what he intends. Sae is right….you stubborn child._

           “Sae explained to me. What’s been going on, I mean. We all knew you woke up…it was all over the news. But…” Akira paused, as if considering his options. “…she told Makoto and myself recently about her visits with you. That you’ve been rejecting anything she has to say. That you’ve been progressing into a further depression the longer you stay here.”

           “Oh, is that what she told you and your little girlfriend?” Akechi snapped nastily; Akira’s eyebrows rose a bit and immediately a pang of guilt hit the detective’s stomach. That had not been the right thing to say…and it had told Akira too much. Well, if he knew a little, he might as well get the full brunt. “Get out. Go back to your little group. I don’t need—”

           “Is that what you think?” Akira immediately interrupted him. Akechi fumed; he could tell his face was growing redder and redder but he couldn’t help it. It was so many months worth of frustration finally unleashing itself somewhere. “Goro. I know I can’t make you want to feel needed by us…by me. But if it means anything, then I can tell you what is actually real.”

           “…And what’s actually real, Joker?” Akechi said, admonishing himself for how soft and inquiring his voice came out. Like a child being told a fairytale asking if the prince saved the princess.

           “You don’t have to feel needed by me. But I need you.” Akira’s tone was so genuine, so sharp, so brutally honest that it took the detective back. “You’re angry right now and I get that, but Goro…when Sae came back to Makoto saying that you had been found, I was overjoyed. You don’t have to believe me but I was. And I felt like all that joy was gone when I realized that you were still gone, that you had slipped out of our grasp and into a coma. I hated it. So I spent those long months thinking and thinking to myself.”

           “A….about?”

           “Why. And when you woke up, I figured it out.” Akechi knew what was coming; he hated it. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t DESERVE it. He wanted to clasp his hands over his ears and scream so he didn’t have to hear it. “Goro, I—”

           “STOP. Just stop, for Christ’s sake, Akira, stop.” Goro slammed his hands against his lap, bowing forward towards the fists in front of him. He couldn’t bring himself to look the black haired youth in the face. “I know what you’re trying to say but you CAN’T. You just can’t. I won’t…I DON’T….I killed you, I tried to kill you again, I tried to kill all your friends. You CAN’T.”

           “But I do.” Akira was quick to pick up the new train of thought. His voice had lowered to a tone unfamiliar to the detective, a soft and reassuring tone.

           “No. Don’t. If I say please like those kids you hang out with, will you not? Will you NOT give all that affection to someone who doesn’t…who doesn’t…” Akechi coughed a bit, unable to force himself to say what he meant, hands itching for the emesis pan so he could let out all the nausea building in his stomach. Looking at the spit covered vomit would be better than having to deal with—

           “Don’t act like you don’t deserve affection.”

           Akechi stopped, finally looking up to the teen with incredulous eyes; he was met with the most sincere expression he had ever seen. No smile, no frown, no anger, just a flat expression that screamed Akira’s sincere honesty. The brunette sat up and bunched into the corner like a wounded animal trying to escape a fox—except really, he realized, Akira was no such predator. His affections were genuine, as genuine as his own, despite everything he had done…

           A hand weaved through his chestnut brown hair. “You deserve it just as much as other people. I’ll be the one to decide how much I can take from the people I love. If people don’t like it then I don’t care. If you need to shoot me five or six more times to make it better than I don’t care. I’ll survive every bullet and come right back for more. Because I’m not going to let you chew off your own leg to get away from the fact that people can love and care you.”

           “Why…” Akechi choked out, hands balling up in the thin fabric of the hospital blanket. “Why? Why are you…why?”

           “Because I care about you. Because I LOVE you.” Akira said matter-a-factly. And there it was, he had finally said it, finally it hung in the air like an unopened letter. “You don’t have to love me back, Goro. I’m not asking for that. I just want to help you. I just want to be there for you.”

           Be there for him. No one had ever BEEN THERE for Goro Akechi. He had always been there for others, to be used, to be a tool in everyone’s game, to be the thorn in their side by the simple merit of existence. No one had ever wanted him there just by the merit of that he was HIM. The shock took a moment to pass through his system as he processed everything that the other boy was saying, barely listening as Akira rattled on about how Akechi didn’t even have to remember that he had said anything about loving him and—

           “I don’t want to forget.” Akechi murmured, hands playing across each other. Akira looked at him questioningly; the detective couldn’t find the strength to look at Akira with his red face and hopeful eyes. “I don’t want to forget you…said that. I want to…say it too. Because I do, too. But, I…”

           The hand in his hair carded downwards to the detective’s shoulder to squeeze it reassuringly. Akechi looked up carefully to the slight smile on the other boy’s face, the surprising pink tint peppering underneath the thick rims of his glasses.

“You can say whatever you want when you find the words. I’m just glad.”

_I’m glad I can be here for you, and that you’ll let me._


End file.
